


Crema Verse Prompt Fill #12

by twobirdsonesong



Series: Crema Verse [14]
Category: Glee
Genre: Barista Blaine, Brothers, Crema verse, Drabble, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ctfxglee asked you:  That one time Cooper decides to go visit Blaine at Starbucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crema Verse Prompt Fill #12

It’s still a little too early for  _him_  to show up, but that doesn’t keep Blaine from glancing over every time he hears the door open or sees the movement of it out of the corner of his eye.  It’s only been a few days, but Blaine looks forward to the quick minute of interaction he gets with  _him_.  It makes Blaine nervous and fluttery and sometimes all he can do is laugh at himself once the man has left the store and disappeared into the bustle of Times Square.  If he’s honest with himself, he looks forward to it far, far too much. The man always greets him with  _hello, good morning_  and he looks right into Blaine’s eyes when he says it, like Blaine is worth his time and attention.  Blaine takes that look and buries it deep down inside where it warms him and helps him through the day.

He’s just a guy; he should  _be_  just a guy.  Blaine sees hundreds of attractive men, of all types, every single day.  There are the businessmen in expensive suits and empty briefcases with constantly furrowed brows.  There are tourists with subway maps who gather around too-small tables trying to figure out uptown from downtown.  There are skinny, cute artist types with streaked hair and eyebrow piercings who look him up and down but never say anything.  No one ever really says anything to him. 

Blaine is pretty sure he’s seen everything Manhattan has to offer.  But now there’s this guy.  This guy with his long legs and his bright eyes; his broad shoulders and his amazing clothes.  This man isn’t just anyone; Blaine knows that, even if he doesn’t know who he is at all.  He’s something Blaine has never met before.  He’s  _something_.

Blaine feels someone hovering at the counter, watching him, just a little behind his line of sight, and he wants to ignore them.  He’s got a slight backup of drinks since that one woman decided she wanted four frappuccinos, and not just one, and all different flavors, and he doesn’t want to get pulled from his rhythm by some inane question or demand.  People are constantly interrupting him for things – the bathroom key, a drink tray, just a little more soy in their coffee even though they’re supposed to pay for it at that point.  Blaine has a thousand things to worry about every moment of his shift and occasionally those little extra things become too much.

He reaches down for a new gallon of milk, just to give himself a moment to take a calming breath before he addresses the person so obviously waiting for Blaine to acknowledge them.  The trashcan under the bar is getting full again and he needs Jeff to bring him more milk, but Jeff is busy trying to cut a breakfast sandwich in half for the woman who thought it’d be ok to bring a doublewide stroller into the store and leave it in the middle of the busy aisle.

“Can I get a coffee, please?”  The person finally asks and he’s got an English accent.  That doesn’t throw Blaine; he’s used to tourists from all over the place.

“Certainly, sir,” Blaine says, tossing two shots into a latte with far more force than necessary, and he struggles to keep his voice neutral.  “But you’re going to have to order up at the register.  It’s around the other side of the bar.”

 _Get in the goddamn line like everyone else_ , he thinks, and wishes he could say.  Blaine is good at keeping his head down, keeping his tongue in-check, at saying his  _yes sirs_ and his  _no ma’ams_.  But there are some days when even Blaine, who prides himself on keeping his cool, on staying levelheaded, just wants to go off and say what he really thinks of some of his customers.  Maybe on his last day.

“What’s a bloke got to do to get a cuppa around here?” The man says, and there’s a note of annoyance in his voice that sets Blaine’s nerves on end.  He’s had enough and it’s not even 8am. 

He turns, ready to say something he hopes he won’t, but his jaw falls open and he almost drops the cup in his hands when he sees who it is.

“Cooper?” He hisses and glances around to be sure no one is paying them any attention.  He almost can’t believe that his brother is there.  But he is, leaning nonchalantly against the bar counter, back just far enough to be mostly out of sight of the line.  His blue eyes are twinkling – the color so different from Blaine’s – and his mouth is quirked into a familiar smirk.  He’s got a slim-cut suit on, with a dark skinny tie, and he’s wearing a fedora.  A fucking  _fedora_.  Blaine wants to roll his eyes at it, but it looks good on him.  Everything looks good on Cooper.

“Hey B.  You looked like you were  _actually_  about to get mad for a second there.  How’d that feel?”

“What are you doing here?” Blaine tries to keep his voice low lest he draw anyone’s attention.  Cooper Anderson cannot just waltz into a Starbucks in the middle of fucking Times Square and expect everything to be fine.

“Can’t I just drop by to see my baby brother?”  Cooper tilts his head inquiringly, pouting a little, and Blaine wants to know how Cooper even knew he was working today.  This isn’t his usual shift.  Blaine doesn’t put it past Cooper calling the store to check his schedule.

Jeff slides up behind him to drop a few breakfast sandwiches on the counter and when he spots Cooper, his eyes go wide with confused recognition, but he doesn’t say anything.  He just shoots Blaine a questioning look, accepts Blaine’s subtle shake of his head, and slips away.  Sometimes Blaine really likes Jeff.

“Why are you speaking in a British accent?”  Blaine asks.

“Thinking about auditioning for a role,” Cooper responds.  “Great scripts.  He’s a conman.  Travels all over.  All sorts of different identities.  My British is ok, but I think my Scottish needs work.  Like the hat?”  Cooper runs his fingers along the ridge of the fedora before he whips it off his head and does a complicated little move with it before placing it back.  “I think it’d be a good character trait.”

“I didn’t know you still had to audition for things.”

“Well, it’s sort of a formality.”  Cooper shrugs.  Blaine doesn’t understand how his brother is still so nonchalant about his own fame and success.  “So, when are you off?  Let’s get lunch, or dinner.  Or both. I’m in town for a while.”

 _And you know my cupboards are basically bare_ , Blaine thinks, shame suddenly rising bitter and awful in his throat.  But he swallows it down.  He always does.  Cooper means well and he can’t fault his brother for his concern.  Even if there’s always a heavy stone of humiliation in his stomach when he thinks about his own financial situation.

Blaine wants to say something snippy about how he might have plans already and Cooper can’t just barge in whenever he pleases, but they both know that’s not true.

He opens his mouth to tell Cooper that he’s off at two, but he hears a familiar drink get called out and his heart drops to his scuffed, stained shoes before it leaps to his throat. 

“Venti, nonfat, light foam, two Splenda latte.”

Blaine looks down the line of customers to see  _him_  standing at the register.  He’s wearing a white button down shirt that looks like it has tennis racquets on it and Blaine can just see a hint of the fitted red pants he’s wearing.  Blaine has a similar pair, and it makes his stomach swoop and flip happily to think that they share anything at all.  He’s not wearing a scarf this morning, but he as a black and white checkered tie knotted expertly around his neck.  The man looks up from his wallet and catches Blaine staring at him.  He smiles, clearly not upset by Blaine’s blatant gaze, and his eyes are so blue and the sun streaming in through the tall windows is glinting off the lighter highlights in his hair and Blaine cannot breathe.

 _Hello, you are the best part of my day_ , he says to himself because he cannot say it out loud.

“Oh, I see,” Cooper says and his eyes are sparkling with mirth.  Blaine flushes to the tips of his ears with embarrassment and irritation and wants nothing more than to punch Cooper.

“You see nothing,” he mutters.  He takes the cup marked with the man’s order and begins the careful process of making the drink.  Blaine knows it’s not for  _him_ , but for his boss, but that doesn’t matter.  Blaine hopes that one day, maybe, he’ll get to make this man a drink meant solely for him.  He thinks it might be a mocha, or a chai – something with a bit of sweetness to complement the deeper, earthier flavor of the espresso.  Blaine wants to watch him lift the drink to his lips and close his eyes as he savors the first, perfect taste.  He doesn’t think about how he wants to chase the flavor back from his mouth with his own lips.

“You like him.”  Cooper singsongs.

“I don’t know him.”

“But you like him.  He’s very good looking.”

“Go away, Cooper.”  He wishes he could get Cooper to stop.  But there’s no stopping Cooper once he’s gotten his teeth into something interesting.

“You should ask him out.”

“Coop,” 

 _I don’t even know his name_ , Blaine thinks bitterly.  It tastes like failure and disappointment.  He’s had every chance over the last three days to ask this gorgeous, lovely, completely-out-of-his-league guy for his name, and he can’t even do that.  He is pathetic.

“Slip him your number.  Ooh, you know what you should do?  You should write your name and number on his cup.  That would be adorable.  Do that.”  Cooper waggles his fingers at the Sharpie perpetually tucked into the pocket of Blaine’s apron.

Blaine can’t say anything in retaliation, because  _he_  approaches the counter.  Blaine feels himself draw his shoulders back and stand a little straighter, as though to make himself taller, more appealing.

 _You are ridiculous_.

“Good morning,” he says, and his voice is always so sweet and wonderful.  It slides across Blaine’s skin like silk and honey and Blaine represses a shiver.  He wants to close his eyes and let the sound of this man’s voice just wash over him, sink deep into his skin and down to his bones.  Blaine can feel Cooper’s eyes boring into the side of his head and he almost wishes he could crawl into one of the refrigerators to help cool his burning cheeks.

“Morning,” Blaine responds.  His voice sounds rough and absurd to his own ears.  “Here’s your drink.”  Blaine hands him the latte, and he watches as their fingers almost brush together.  There’s enough white space on the cup for another name, and possibly a number.

“Thank you, as always.  My boss says these are the best lattes of her life,” the man says, and his eyelashes flutter a little.  His lips are red and soft looking and his skin is so pale, save for the light stain of a blush across his cheekbones.  He doesn’t seem to notice Cooper, because his eyes never leave Blaine.  Blaine notices the other man’s gaze flickering across his face and his hair and even down his body.  He remembers too late that he left the top button of his polo undone that morning and a little patch of his chest is visible.  He feels like he’s being appraised; he hopes he’s not found wanting.

“You’re very welcome.  Anything to keep you from getting fired before your first week is up.”  Blaine’s tongue feels heavy and clumsy in his mouth, and he twists a sanitizing rag between his hands to give himself something to do.

“Until tomorrow,” he says with a little wink, and tips the cup in Blaine’s direction before he turns from the counter and heads for the door.  Blaine watches him, eyes following the breadth of his shoulders and the long curve of his back until he loses sight of him in the crowd of the street.  Blaine sighs and his posture collapses.  He is completely and utterly hopeless. 

“Wow,” Cooper says, amused and aghast at the same time.  “That was painful.” 

“Fuck off.”  Blaine throws the rag and is gratified when it knocks Cooper’s fedora to the floor.  He’s going to make Cooper buy him something insanely overpriced for dinner, just because.


End file.
